Warm sunlight spilled across Locke's face, the gentle heat settling into his skin and easing the tension lingering in his body. For a brief moment, everything felt calm—almost peaceful. The chaos, the violence, the relentless pressure of battle all seemed distant, like something that had happened in another life.
He exhaled slowly.
Not far away, Emily stood behind the counter, talking animatedly with Dam, her voice carrying faintly through the room. There was a lightness to the scene, a kind of normalcy that felt strangely rare. Watching them, a faint smile tugged at Locke's lips.
He liked this feeling.
But it didn't last.
With a thought, his focus shifted inward, and the familiar interface surfaced instantly in his mind. He didn't hesitate, pulling up his personal panel with practiced ease.
Lin Jue
Dimension Points: 310
Natal Talent: Dimension Deprivation
Abilities: Immortality, Body of the Ancestor (Remnant of the Archangel), Blood God (Non-Conceptual)
His gaze lingered.
The words "Blood God" held his attention, something about them carrying a weight that demanded inspection. As his thoughts focused, a stream of information surged into his mind, detailed and precise.
Blood God: The origin of the vampire race within the Marvel Universe. Grants extreme speed, overwhelming strength, and unparalleled regenerative ability. Immunity to all natural diseases. Capable of shapeshifting into any form. Can enter Blood God state. Possesses the ability to infect other lifeforms, converting them into vampires.
Locke's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Marvel Universe…" he murmured under his breath, his thoughts sharpening as he processed the implications. "And I can turn others into vampires."
The realization settled in quietly.
This wasn't just another ability. It was a foundation—a core power tied directly to an entire species. Something fundamental. Something dangerous.
…
Far from the quiet warmth of the bar, the eastern outskirts of Gotham told a different story.
An abandoned factory stood under the dim light of the early evening, its exterior worn and rusted, giving off the impression of long neglect. One by one, black vehicles rolled through the entrance, their engines humming softly as they disappeared inside.
The moment they crossed the threshold, everything changed.
The dim lighting brightened gradually, revealing walls that were anything but decayed. The rusted surfaces peeled away into sleek, metallic structures, their silver sheen reflecting the artificial light. The entire facility transformed, shedding its disguise to reveal something far more advanced beneath.
Deep inside, a sterile white laboratory stood at the center of it all.
The room was filled with instruments—machines of varying sizes, each humming quietly as data streamed across their displays. A man in a white coat moved between them rapidly, his movements erratic yet purposeful. His eyes, sunken and bloodshot, flicked from one readout to another with manic intensity.
He didn't notice the door open.
Footsteps approached.
Several figures in black windbreakers entered the lab, their presence silent but heavy. They moved with discipline, their posture rigid, their expressions unreadable. At the center of them stood a tall, imposing man whose mere presence carried a subtle pressure.
"Doctor," he said, his voice calm but firm. "What's the result?"
The man in the white coat froze.
Then he turned.
His face was unsettling. The whites of his eyes were almost completely overtaken by red veins, his expression teetering on the edge of obsession. Anyone else might have recoiled, but the men before him didn't react at all.
Instead, the doctor smiled.
"Incredible… absolutely incredible," he muttered, his voice trembling with excitement. "Where did you get this liquid?"
No answer came.
The silence stretched for a moment, heavy and deliberate. The doctor's smile faltered slightly as he met the unyielding stares of the men in front of him. He raised his hands in mock surrender, exhaling in resignation.
"Fine, fine. No need to get all serious."
He moved quickly.
Crossing the room, he opened a sealed metal container and retrieved a small cage. Inside, a white mouse darted back and forth, its movements quick and energetic, its tiny body radiating vitality.
"This," the doctor said, holding the cage up with a gleam in his eyes, "is proof."
He stepped closer, his voice growing more animated.
"The liquid you provided contains an unknown substance capable of restoring living organisms to their peak condition. This mouse was old—near the end of its lifespan. But after absorbing even a small amount, it returned completely to its most youthful state."
His excitement built with every word.
"I've been observing it for days now. There are no signs of regression. No instability. It's not temporary. It's a complete restoration."
The burly man's eyes sharpened.
"Can it be reused?"
The doctor blinked.
"Reused? You mean—" He paused, catching something in the phrasing. "Wait. You called it blood. What kind of creature does this come from?"
No answer.
The pressure in the room intensified slightly, subtle but unmistakable. The doctor swallowed, his instincts kicking in as he chose not to push further.
"Right… not my business," he said quickly, forcing a laugh. "But if you're asking about effects—there are no side effects. No drug resistance either. In theory, continuous use could maintain youth indefinitely."
The words hung in the air.
"Very good," the man said simply.
Without another question, without another glance, he turned and left. The others followed immediately, their movements synchronized as they exited the laboratory, leaving the doctor standing alone among his machines.
"This guy…" the doctor muttered under his breath, shaking his head as the door slid shut.
Outside, the night had deepened.
The burly man stepped out of the factory, answering a call as he walked. His tone remained steady as he relayed the results, each word precise, controlled. By the time the call ended, his expression had hardened.
The plan was moving forward.
He lowered the phone slowly, his gaze drifting toward the darkness ahead. One by one, figures emerged from the shadows—men and women alike, all dressed in black, their presence quiet but undeniable.
There were many of them.
Nearly twenty.
Each carried a faint but distinct aura, something that hinted at abilities beyond the ordinary. They stood in formation, waiting.
"Boss," one of them spoke, a slender man stepping forward slightly. "Looks like the organization's finally making a real move."
Another voice followed.
"That 'Judge' guy… he's already clashed with the Masked Club. A few days ago, the Grayson family interfered with our operation."
The speaker was a woman, her figure slender and composed, standing in contrast to the more heavily built individuals around her.
The burly man didn't respond immediately.
His eyes remained fixed ahead, deep and unreadable, as if weighing something beyond the immediate situation.
Then he spoke.
"This operation—everyone moves."
The words landed heavily.
The group exchanged glances, the weight of the order settling over them. This wasn't routine. This was escalation.
Without further discussion, they dispersed, their figures melting back into the darkness from which they had come.
High above, far from the factory, someone had been watching.
A man lowered his binoculars slowly, his expression shifting into something between surprise and concern.
"Well… damn," he muttered. "Since when did Gotham get this crowded with dangerous people?"
"How so?"
Another man leaned casually against a pillar behind him, a cigarette hanging from his lips as smoke curled lazily into the air.
"Don't play dumb," the first man replied, glancing back. "That many people from that organization showing up at once? Something big's happening. We've barely handled the mess next door, and now this."
He exhaled sharply.
"The bosses were right to have us keep an eye on that guy."
The man with the cigarette smirked slightly.
"I wouldn't mind testing them myself," he said, his tone almost amused. "See if they're really as dangerous as people claim."
"Yeah? Then don't drag me into it," the other shot back immediately. "I plan on living a little longer."
He turned and headed for the stairs without waiting for a reply.
Mission done.
He had no interest in sticking around longer than necessary. There was work tomorrow, and right now, sleep sounded far more appealing than whatever storm was brewing.
Behind him, the man with the cigarette took one last drag before flicking the butt to the ground and crushing it under his heel. Without hesitation, he stepped up to the edge and jumped.
He landed hard.
The impact echoed briefly before he broke into a run, his body moving swiftly toward the outskirts of the city. Trees blurred past him as he cut through the forest, his speed leaving deep impressions in the earth with every step.
Minutes passed.
The dense woods began to thin, the city lights gradually coming into view. Slowing slightly, he emerged onto a street lined with dimly lit buildings, blending seamlessly into the urban environment.
A few turns later, he stopped.
In front of him stood a bar, its faint glow spilling out onto the street. The noise inside was unmistakable—laughter, music, the clink of glasses.
He pushed the door open.
Sound rushed out to meet him as he stepped inside, the lively atmosphere swallowing him whole.
....
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